One Time At Band Camp
by T-R-Us
Summary: Insanity ensues when Lord Wyldon creates the Royal Tortallan Band and sends a group of knights, mages, royals and commoners off to band camp. Crack!Fic
1. Changes in the House of Corus

**Title: "**One Time at Band Camp"

**Authoress: **T-R-Us

**Rating:** T Wow. I don't even know. I think it's after Lady Knight, but it's considerably AU so don't read too much into that.

Setting:

**Warning: **If you don't like random, and unnecessary character death, chances are you will not like this fic. I usually prefer to write in a style that is much more detailed than this one, with far less dialogue. However, in the nature of making this fic "spontaneous", that's how it is. If you dislike that particular style, I suggest you find something else to read. However, if you are tired, high off of sugar (or drugs) or lacking an IQ over 5, you may find this enjoyable.

**Disclaimer: **Nope. I don't own Tortall or anything like that. I don't own a band camp. I do own a flute, and an illegal photocopy of the music to Back to the Future, but I don't own any of the characters. Not even the ones that make a brief cameo from other fandoms. Th-th-th-th-that's all, folks!

**Chapter One: "Changes in the House of Corus" **

As twilight began to melt the bright colors of the setting sun into a dull indigo, Veralidaine Sarrasri sat unconcerned on the limb of a young oak tree. Pressed to her lips was a simply made wooden flute from which a stirring melody flowed, carried loosely on the soft wind that had begun to pick up with evening's approach. Seated around the wild mage, on various branches and twigs was collected a small group of animals. Squirrels mostly, there were a few assorted birds, and of course Zekoi, Daine's monkey-friend. Below, leaning against the trunk rested Kitten, too ungainly to climb up. All had fallen into an unnatural silence, listening intently to hear their friend play.

Daine was first alerted to another's presence by her dragon's sudden chirp, bristling. She pulled the flute from her mouth, sparing a glance downward. Kitten had cocked her head to the side, and chirped again – before trotting over to the approaching man.

Numair Salmalín.

The tall, lanky mage was sheltered from the cool of the air by a long cloak draped across broad shoulders, his dark hair pulled into a horse tail. "Hello up there," he smiled.

The wild mage pocketed her flute, and let down a hand, grinning. "Need some help up?"

From where he stood, Numair was practically at eye level with his student's dangling legs. Shaking his head he continued to look upwards at her, "I don't think there's any room." He yawned, stretching slightly, before leaning against the tree's trunk. "Well Magelet, I'm glad to see my midwinter gift has gone to some sort of use."

Daine beamed, "It's beautiful. Thank you for giving it to me."

Numair shrugged, shoving his large hands into the pockets of his comfortable breeches. "When I saw what Jon had thought to give me, I knew I'd have no use for it." He chuckled, recalling the short conversation in which he'd related to the king that his gift had been re-gifted. "It seems you have quite the audience."

"I know, they like it when I play." She paused, listening to something one of the squirrels had said, while Numair watched the exchange in amusement. Laughing at the animal's comment, her balance shifted and she pitched forward from her perch on the limb.

It was the mage's magic which saved her from tumbling, and somewhat wide-eyed, she grabbed onto a branch, swinging downwards to the ground. "I suppose this isn't the best place for a conversation."

A little shocked himself at her near fall, Numair silently praised his quick reflexes. "I suppose you're right."

With a non-verbal goodbye to her friends, Daine fell into step with her teacher, who made a point of dusting several twigs and leaves out of her dark curls, before taking her arm. As the pair made their way towards the palace, Numair cringed at the raucous shouting from the mess. "It's a pity we don't have that much music here. We could use some cheery sounds."

"Actually, that's not such a terrible idea." A scowl written across his face indicating that he had heard the commotion, Lord Wyldon appeared in the doorway to his rooms. Dressed in a comfortable jerkin, he nodded at the mages. "I have a friend who knows this bard – he runs a band school." He paused in thought for a moment, before adding, "They call it a camp. It's nothing like our page camps though."

Numair nodded, "It sounds like it could be an interesting experience."

"I'll have to ask Jon about it, maybe this camp could be a reality." He shrugged, then nodded again, taking his leave as he strode across the hall towards the still chaotic mess hall.

XXXXX

Keladry of Mindelan rubbed at a large bruise on her cheek, gently shouldering her friends out of her way. Her tolerance for her fellow knights was dwindling, particularly after the brawl that had started in the knights' mess hall a week ago – the effects of which she was still suffering from. "Neal, if you would move your big –"

"Yeah, _Neal_ you're getting in Kel's way." Cleon was grinning like a Cheshire cat as he none-too-kindly pushed his friend to the side. "She wants to see the sign."

"What is it?" Owen had been forced to the back of the crowd that was gathering, being still just a squire. He bounced lightly on he balls of his feet, trying to see over the heads of his friends, all of whom were far taller.

Kel, now directly in front of the new posting on the notice board, read through the note thoughtfully. "It's an advertisement," her eyes scanned farther down the page, "For some sort of music camp."

"Read it out loud!"

"_Spend a week at Band Camp!_" Keladry began, reading tonelessly, "_All residents of Corus are welcome to attend – no fee required. Be at the front gates by the third bell. Bring any necessities. Signed,_" Here she paused, rereading the name several times in order to be sure it was the correct one, "-_ Lord Wyldon._"

"Lord Wyldon!?" Merric was skeptical, pushing into view of the notice, "But I thought the Stump hates that sort of thing. Why would he – "

Cleon shrugged, "Who knows? But it sounds like it could be fun, right?" He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked around at his friends, "Page camp was pretty fun, wasn't it?"

He was met with the blank stares of those who remembered what exactly had happened during their first year page camp.

"All right, well this is different. It's _band_ camp. What could go wrong?"

**Authoress's Note:**  
Ooooh, band camp. What types of horrors await?  
Personally, I've never been to band camp. But I've been in _band_, so I know that much at least. I'm a flautist, by the way. XD My band director hated me. Maybe this is my inner subconscious crying out – who knows?!


	2. Role Calling

**Chapter Two: "Role Calling" **

The crowd gathered at the front gates of Tortall's capital was substantial, and people representing all orders of social hierarchy were present. From the royal family down to lowly servants, a surprising number had shown up for the experience. Somewhat snidely, Lord Wyldon figured that a lot of it had to do with the fact that there would be 'no fee'. From where he stood, at the very front of the assembly, he examined the faces, seeing mostly those of people he was familiar with.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at the long sheaf of parchment in his hand, a sign up sheet which had been posted along with his notice. If the number of people in the multitudes didn't suggest just how large a group this was, the amount of names on the parchment did. "All right!" He shouted in the voice that had formerly been reserved for his role as training master, "I'm going to need quiet – "

Silence.

"Ah – thank you. This is important, so pay attention." His stance was incredibly solid as he faced the crowd, his eyes steely with purpose, "The camp is sending a _bus_ – " he glared at those responsible a sudden surge of chatter, " – to pick us up. It should be here at any time, but no one will be leaving until I have checked you off." Shuffling the paper, officiously he called the first name. "Veralidaine Sarrasri?"

The Wild Mage waved from where she stood next to her teacher, not knowing what else to do.

"Lalasa Isran?"

The timid seamstress raised a hand shyly, looking up at Lord Wyldon with unmasked awe.

"Her Royal Highness, Queen Thayet?"

Several of the knights whistled as Thayet – laughing – nodded to Wyldon.

"Princess Kalasin?"

The youth holding her mother's arm beamed, and then imitated the queen's nod.

"Keladry of Mindelan?"

Kel bowed, "Here, Sir!"

"Cleon of Kennan?"

The knight yawned, and nodded to the ex-training master, before turning to look at his friends with amusement. "I get to sit next to the _Pearl_, right?" He grinned even as Kel threatened to swat him in the back of the head.

"You're betrothed!" She scowled.

"So I am…"

"Onua Chamtong of the K'miri Raadaeh?"

The horse mistress groaned, and acknowledged herself. "You couldn't have just said 'Onua', could you?"

Lord Wyldon shot her a sharp look, and continued on. "Merric of Hollyrose?"

"Here!" The knight shouted.

"Seamus Finnigan?" There was no response, and Lord Wyldon looked around, seething. "How dare you refuse to identify your – ah – wrong story. Seaver of Tasride?"

The knight waved, "Present!"

"Owen of Jesslaw?"

Owen looked up hopefully at his knight master, "Do I get a present?"

Rolling his eyes, Lord Wyldon avoided looking at the squire, and instead focused on both the next name on the parchment and on controlling his temper, "No. Alanna?"

"Oh, sure," the knight groaned, melodramatically, as she began to scowl. "Of course you couldn't use any of _my_ titles, could you?"

Lord Wyldon chose to ignore this, and continued. "Buriram Tourakom?"

"Bur_i_." She sighed, "Bur_i_."

Choosing to disregard this as well, Lord Wyldon's level of tolerance quickly began to lessen. "Raoul?"

"What?"

"Raoul?" He repeated, feeling the makings of a headache coming on.

"Huh?"

"RAOUL!"

"Sorry, I didn't hear you."

With a sigh, the ex-training master read the full name, "Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak."

"Right over here!"

"King Jonathan?"

"I'm no longer a Royal Highness?" The king grinned brightly, and basked in the sudden eruption of laughter from many of his subjects – particularly those who could be forcibly removed from their positions.

"Sir Myles?"

"Yes, I love you too," the knight slurred, drunkenly, before suddenly giggling.

Wyldon sighed, "Stupid alcoholic. Coram Smythesson?"

"Here!"

Alanna looked around anxiously, "Coram? I thought you died!"

"No, I just got married."

"Oh. Same thing."

"Nealan of Queenscove?"

Exasperated, Neal tugged at his hair, shouting, "IT'S NEAL! JUST NEAL! NOT NEALAN, NEAL!"

Lord Wyldon cleared his throat, watching as those surrounding the knight moved a quick two steps away. "George Cooper?"

"_Baron_ George Cooper, did you mean?"

"Yes, yes. _Baron_ George Cooper," Wyldon sighed, this was going to be a long two weeks.

"Look!" The shout had come from Kel, who was pointing down the dirt road leading up to the front gates of Corus. There, a large, yellow thing on wheels was making its way towards them.

**Closing Comments:  
**All I can say is that it looks like Lord Wyldon has bit off a ton of a lot more than he can possibly chew, let alone digest. Poor Lord Wyldon. (Someone's missing from the role call, can you tell who?)


	3. It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's?

**Chapter Three: "It's a Bird! It's a Plane! It's - " **

The large, yellow thing on wheels continued to roll down the stretch of grass between it and the crowd. Every one stood perfectly still, their eyes transfixed as it zoomed towards them. When it was only a few feet away...

"RUN!" The shout ripped through the silence like a gunshot – or would have, if guns existed then. Although buses did, so perhaps there _were_ firearms.

Havoc broke loose! Owen tried to leap onto his knight master's back, struggling to get as far from the ground as possible. Seaver and Merric, in their hurry to get away, continually body slammed each other in terror, while Cleon swung out of Nowhere on a magical rope vine – to save Kel from the oncoming vehicle. Annoyed at Cleon's impropriety, Neal stood on a branch of the tree which Cleon was swinging from, and snipped through the vine with a pair of scissors, causing the two to…

… land on top of Owen and Lord Wyldon, who were now running, then smash into Kally and Thayet. With a large dog-pile on the queen and princess, Jonathan began to wade through the people with the intent of retrieving his wife and daughter. Nearby, George and Alanna clung to each other for dear life, whilst Coram pulled out a scrying mirror to quote mushy love poems to his One True Love. Buri and Raoul were wrapped in each other's arms, and Lalasa stood sobbing at the bottom of Cleon's tree.

Onua and Daine, however, were doing their best to make a run for it. Unfortunately, a wayward stone successfully tripped the wild mage, hurtling her into the direct line of fire as the vehicle loomed closer.

5 feet

4 feet

3 feet

2 feet

1 foot...

WHEN suddenly, out of the sky appeared _Numair_! Bedecked in a stylish SUPERMAN cape, he grabbed the wild mage and pulled her out of harm's way with seconds to spare! (Good thing he has those great reflexes.)

"Numair!" Daine sighed, happy to be alive, "Why didn't Lord Wyldon call out your name during attendance?"

Before Numair could answer, however, the bus driver realized that he had finally arrived at his destination. With a wide-eyed look at the chaos around him, he hit the brakes and pulled the lever – opening the door with a clack.

**Authoress's Note:**Woah. He stopped the bus. This chapter was random. I don't even know why I write this stuff, lol. But here it is. Excuse the grammar, it was intentionally written poorly. But anyway it's meant to be sort of childish, you know like those stories making fun of poor writing skill? Only less blatant and also not as good.


	4. Keep All Arms and Legs Inside the Bus

**Chapter Four: "Keep All Arms and Legs Inside the Bus" **

"QUIET!" The bus driver had leapt out of his seat, causing the terrified Tortallans to freeze in place. With a stern gaze, and a confident – if slow, the man was pushing sixty – walk, he rounded in front of the group. "I am the bus driver! **Form a line!**"

Lord Wyldon, collapsing under the weight of two knights, a mage and a magelet, still managed to scowl at this sudden change of authority. "Who says –"

"**Quiet!**" The bus driver, with his ability to speak in all bold letters – and possibly all capitals – was awe-inspiring even to the former training master. "Now form a line!"

The Tortallans rushed to do his bidding, crowding each other around the door to the bus. The organization was working perfectly until…

"Don't. Push!"

"Well, I _am_ the King! I should think I get to sit on the bus first!"

Thayet glared at her husband, "Well I'm the Queen, I believe that it's supposed to be _ladies first_, even amongst royals." Delicately, she pushed past him, eliciting an indignant squawk.

"Hey! I'm the Princess!"

The bus driver cleared his throat in irritation, preparing to utilize his all-capital abilities; "ALL THREE OF YOU – BACK OF THE LINE!" His shout was more of a roar, and the three royals hurried to the end of the line without further question, terrified.

Once every one was _safely_ seated, the bus driver resumed his own seat and flipped on the ignition, shifting gear with ease and driving expertly around the carts, peasants and wayward pickpockets crowding the streets of Corus.

"May I ask how this… 'thing'… works?"

"No! **No** asking questions!"

"Why?"

The bus driver's rules existed _only_ to allow him to maintain full concentration while driving – or so they say – but he wasn't having any of it. "**No** asking questions!"

"But – "

"**No buts!** If you want to talk about obscene body parts – **back of the bus**!"

Despite wanting to ask more questions – and point out the excessive use of "speaking in bold" - the entire crowd of Tortallans scooted to the back of the bus – accompanied by a shout of "no standing on the bus", "no changing seats on the bus", and also "no weasel stomping on the bus". With the exception of Sir Myles and the driver, the front seats were empty.

"Where do we go if we want to talk about sex?" was Sir Myles' response, still clearly under the influence.

"**Back of the bus**!"

With a cheesy grin, Myles scooted back to join the rest of the Tortallans.

In a burst of sudden, unexplainable giddiness, the bus driver looked up into his rear view mirror at his passengers. "Let me teach you the song!" With even greater gusto, he flipped the bus onto the secret auto-pilot switch he'd had installed, and stood in the middle of the aisle. "Every one sing along!"

To looks of sheer confusion, the bus driver began to sing, revealing an ability to not only speak in bold letters and capitals, but also _italic_s!

"_No – ah – eatin' on da bus!  
No drinkin' too!  
No breathin' on da bus,  
An' if you wanttotalkaboutsexgositinthebackawayfromthelittlekids!"_

"I would have thought that there would be more rules," Raoul commented quietly to Buri, who was sitting next to him. Unfortunately, the bus driver heard his remark.

"There _are_!"

Thus, the song continued for several hours as they drove from Tortall straight into Twentieth Century Fox!

Finally, they had made it to Band Camp!

"**Please keep all arms and legs inside the bus until the vehicle comes to a full and complete stop!** … _Thank you!_"

**Authoress's Notes:** Believe it or not, the bus driver is based on a real person from my elementary school days. The kids on bus 614 even WROTE that song about him – although I was never actually on that bus, and most likely tweaked the lyrics accidentally. (He was the bus driver we had for Bus Orientation day. His first words were to "always stay an arm's length away from de bus!"


	5. Unpaid, Unowned Guest Cameo!

**Chapter Five: "Unpaid, Unowned Guest Cameo!"**

As the bus rolled through the heavy iron gates of band camp – not only decorative, but also effective in keeping homesick campers contained within the complex – the Tortallans oohed and aahed at the sights. There were several large cabin-like buildings set up in what must look like a jumbled mess if seen from overhead, numerous empty fields, and even a large lake. (Although the lake existed only to ensure that band camp was in fact a "camp", although campers are not allowed in it.)

Following the bus driver's instructions, they waited until the bus had stopped before climbing out with much enthusiasm. However, their gusto was frozen when the encountered someone standing just outside the doors…

"Hello." A large, bright pink bunny with a pair of shades over its eyes looked up at the crowd of Tortallans, giving a slight bow of respect when he noticed Jonathan and Thayet. In his furry paws, he held a large drum, revealing the reason for his presence at a band camp.

"Who in the Great Gods are you?"

He blinked, looking absolutely appalled that they didn't know exactly who he was.

Next to Numair, Daine whispered, "I can't even sense any copper fire…"

"_You're_ – " Myles was shouting, having just stepped off the bus, "_the Energizer Bunny_!"

His outburst earned stares from the rest of the Tortallans. What was _wrong_ with him?

"Actually, I'm just leaving," He nodded to Myles, and with unmasked hostility brushed past the rest of the crowd, climbing into the bus. The Tortallans jumped as they heard the engine start up again, moved away to let the bus driver and the Energizer Bunny drive off into the distance.

"Aww, I was hoping that those were are counselors," Kally whined, looking longingly back at the departing bus. "He was cute!"

"_We_ are your counselors," Two relatively tall people, both of whom were… glowing?... walked down the path from the large building in front of the group. "Girls are that way," the female pointed off to the right, "Guys to the left."

Without question, the crowds split accordingly.

**Authoress's Note:** It's short. Ah well. Aren't you proud of me, though? I put the Energizer Bunny in, and didn't _once_ use the phrase "it just keeps going and going and going…" Oh. Jeez. Well, let's pretend that one didn't count.


	6. Haggy and the Great Mother Goddess

**Chapter Six: "Haggy and the Great Mother Goddess"**

The Girls' Room

Daine looked around the girls' dormitory, her eyes wide. Rows of beds lined either side of the walls, and if not for the various posters portraying the fingering charts of different instruments, it could very well be a fancy orphanage. "You mean we're sleeping in here?"

The woman who had directed them to the room nodded, "Please pick a bed."

"But – but – " almost immediately, Daine began to panic. "I can't _physically_ sleep in here! I left Kitten and Zek at home! And without Numair, I'm all alone! I need to be with _someone_! I need – "

"Me?"

The wild mage let out a screech of anger mixed with terror, as she leapt into the air. Once she returned to the ground, she hurried back to the front of the room, wanting to get as far from that voice as possible.

"What's wrong, girlie? Don't you remember me?"

"Who _are_ you?" Kalasin looked utterly confused at the wild mage's sudden change of composure. "Don't worry, Daine, it's just a little old lady…"

"A little old lady?" She shouted, "A _little old _lady! That, there, is the Graveyard Hag! Don't you know who she is?"

The other female Tortallans shook their heads no – minus Alanna, who was preoccupied with the other woman. "Every one, please calm down." The woman intoned, smiling pleasantly, "Please choose a bed. It will be yours for the duration of your stay here."

Every one sat down on a random bed – they were getting very good at following orders.

The speaker then turned to the Graveyard Hag, "Haggy, stay away from the girl for now, she's a little –"

Daine's eyes bulged, "Haggy? You call her _Haggy_?"

"Well," the woman shrugged, "It's sort of sort for Graveyard Hag, you see." A pause. "Oh! And I'm the Great Mother Goddess!"

The Tortallans were wowed by the deity.

"You can call me… Great Mother Goddess. I will be your counselor while you're at band camp, and Haggy here will be the CIT. Well, if must have been a looong drive," She smiled, and moved towards the door, the Graveyard Hag on her heels, "Every one bunk down and we'll find out what instruments you're playing tomorrow." With that, she flicked the lights off.

**Authoress's Notes:** Think the girls have it bad with their counselors? Wait'll we hit the boy's dorms in the next chapter!


	7. Mithros and Gainel

**Chapter Seven: "Mithros and Gainel" **

The Boys' Room

"Every one grab a bed!" The man who had directed the male Tortallans to their dormitory pointed to the rows of beds lining the walls. "I'll be your god – ah – I mean, counselor here at band camp."

Next to him appeared the sullen, dark-eyed CIT. "…" He said. 

"Oh, I'll introduce myself first," The bright figure grinned, "I'm Mithros."

"As if we didn't know _you_!" Raoul announced, eyeballing the god.

"Is there any food around here?" Merry and Pippin entered the room looking sad. The Fellowship had come to band camp a week earlier, and they were hungry.

"Who in Mithros' name are – "

With a POOF! they disappeared.

"Ah, ah, ah," Mithros wagged a finger in Numair's direction, "No swearing on my name while I'm in here, _Numy_."

With wide-eyed shock, the Tortallans backed away, as every one – particularly Daine's favorite mage – scooted onto a different bed, as far from Mithros as possible.

"As I said, I'm Mithros!" The god seemed unfazed at the sudden distrust, "And that's Gainel," he pointed to the CIT. "We're your counselors! Now," He flicked the lights off magically, "Lights out! Get ready to see the lists of instruments tomorrow."

**Authoress's Notes:** Another shortie. Oh well! Some of the good things in life are short, like Michael J. Fox! He's only 5'4"½ . So… yeah!


	8. The List

**Chapter Eight: "The List" **

The Tortallans pushed and shoved their way to the bulletin board the following morning, eager to see to which instrument they had been assigned. Many would be disappointed, others overjoyed. However, amid all the chaos, no one could get near enough the sign to actually read it. With a combination of his magic – and brute force – Numair shoved all the knights, mages, royalty and peasants aside to read the list aloud.

"The woodwinds," He began, clearing his throat. "**Flutes**; Daine – " the wild mage grinned, already knowing how to play the instrument, " – Lalasa, Thayet and Onua." The four flautist did a group high five, moving courteously to the side. Numair continued, "**Clarinets**; Coram – "  
Coram shrugged, pretending not to care, but was secretly quite pleased.

" – Kalasin, Keladry, Cleon and Nealan."

Neal's left eye twitched, and Numair hastily rushed to correct himself.

"Ah, Neal. Simply Neal." He paused, and the clarinetists also moved to the side, allowing the next group to hear. "The brass section. Jonathan, Alanna, Merric and Seaver – all **trumpets**."

This announcement was met with some skepticism, primarily from Merric and Seaver who were concerned about playing what they had heard dubbed as "one of the most difficult instruments _ever_."

"**Saxophones** – " Those remaining straightened a little, as if this sudden correction of posture would aide them in the eternal quest to play the sax – an instrument clearly synonymous for _cool_. Numair rolled his eyes at this, and read out, "Buri – alto, George and Raoul – tenor."

George and Raoul high fived each other, both uncharacteristically shouting, "Awesome!" and immediately making plans to invest in a pair of black shades from the band camp tuck shop.

"The rest of us," He groaned in annoyance as he realized who he was lumping himself with, "Are in percussion."

Owen did a jig, and Myles smiled drunkenly.

"Owen, you're on the drum kit, and Myles you have the xylophone." Numair scanned the bottom of the list, and smiled self-indulgently. He had expected the last placement. "I'll be on the piano, _of course._"

Excited – or annoyed – with their placements, the Tortallans hurried off to a "fulfilling" camp breakfast, leaving Wyldon behind to look at the very end of the sign.

_'Conductor _

_Lord Wyldon – Conductor in Training (CIT)'_

**Authoress's Notes:** I realize that I'm leaving out what people may consider to be very important instruments – especially because they're likely the ones that they play. Unfortunately, there are only so many Tortallans in band camp, so instead of struggling to find a balanced sound with one flute, one trumpet, one baritone, one oboe, one piccolo, a glockenspiel, a harpist, etc., etc., I decided to stick with the band!camp!basics.  
So to all you bass clarinets, guitars, chimes, timpani, baritones, trombones, tubas, French horns, triangles, maracas, harmonicas, kazoos - and my personal favorite - vibraslaps, and every thing else left out, I just didn't have the people to write into those parts! SORRY!

On another, though somewhat irrelevant note - during my band's version of 'Kokomo' I did both the tambourine and the vibraslap. But because "vibraslap" sounds sucky, I renamed it the 'palsarbiv'. Which is... vibraslap backwards.


	9. Three, Two, One BOOM!

**Chapter Nine: "Three, Two, One … BOOM!"**

Lord Wyldon stared out across the band practice room, and shook his head sadly: this could never work.

In the flute section, the four flautists were giggling and making crude comments about the implications of the word "pianist", while the resident piano player rolled his eyes and made an act of wringing out his hands and cracking his knuckles. The clarinetists were fighting over seats – and not just regular band placement. Cleon and Neal had stooped to a fist fight over who would sit next to Keladry – who was quite happy in between Kalasin and Coram.

In the row behind them, the trumpets were having a game of "sword in the stone", as they struggled to pull out the mouth piece Merric had successfully jammed into his trumpet, while the saxophones looked on. Owen had begun a rather amusing – although painfully lacking rhythm – drum solo on the kit, while Myles was strapping together his _new_ xylophone: of beer bottles.

"Attention, every one!" Lord Wyldon cried out vainly over the group.

No one was paying any attention.

"_Listen up_!" He tried again to no effect.

Numair, however, looked up at his conductor. "May I?"

The former training master nodded, and with a last wringing of his hands, the mage placed his fingers gently on the polished keys and blasted out a flawless performance of Franz Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody #2 in C# minor. A particularly amazing feat, considering his utter lack of classical training, (or _any_ training.)

Instant. Silence.

Taking advantage at the sudden lull in the noise, Wyldon lifted his pointy conductor's baton. "Alright," he announced, back in his element, "Today we're going to learn how to _play_ each individual instrument. If you'll please take note –" He reached forward and pulled the trumpet out of Merric's hands, easily sliding the mouth piece out as only a band director can do.

"He pulled the mouth piece from the trumpet!" Owen shouted, "That must make him our true conductor!"

There were collective gasps issued from around the room, and the ex-training master groaned. "Yes. Sure. All right. Fine." He held up the trumpet, reclaiming the Tortallans' attention, "Now listen. _This_ is a trumpet. It has a _three_ buttons. Three. You – Lioness," he beckoned towards Alanna, "Play a note. Any note." 

She blinked up at him. If he'd told her to fight a dragon, she could have done it easily. But this, this was beyond her. "How?"

"Press one of the buttons," He replied, his patience waning, "buzz your lips and blow through the mouth piece."

"Uh. Sure." Holding the trumpet to her lips, Alanna quickly brushed a tendril of auburn hair out of her eyes and – somewhat impatiently – blew through the instrument, instantly hitting a sour note.

Lord Wyldon winced, and opened his mouth to make a comment about the sharpness of what had the potential of being a Bb, when he was cut off by a voice…

… a voice that was coming from _out_ of Alanna's trumpet.

"This trumpet will self-destruct in ten…"

"ALANNA!" His eyes widened in shock, "What did you DO?"

"… nine, eight, seven…"

Alanna stared at her trumpet, dumbfounded. "I don't know? I guess I the wrong button?"

"… six, five…"

Wyldon's mouth flapped in disbelief, "What wrong button?"

She shrugged, "The fourth one?"

"There – are – only – three – buttons – on – a – trumpet!" He spoke through gritted teeth, watching the instrument warily as the countdown continued/

"… four, three, two…"

"Alanna! Put down the trumpet!" George had discarded his saxophone and was lunging for his wife.

"One." The voice had finished, and with an all-too-pleasant tone added, "Have a nice day!"

With a shower of colorful confetti and a loud bang, the trumpet in Alanna's hands exploded into a flash of bright light – leaving the knight nowhere to be seen.

"ALANNA! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" George fell to his knees, his eyes wide with horror and loss.

"She's gone, George," commented Raoul. Where he should have been dismayed at his friend's apparent death, he beamed. '_Now Jon _has_ to make me King's Champion!_'

"Come along, George, let's go get some frappuchino."

The Baron allowed himself to be led from the practice room by Numair, his eyes bloodshot from the horror of it all. Alanna was gone. Gone? No! She couldn't be! She had to be somewhere – somewhere near, and he **would** find her. He would devote all his time to getting her back! He would not sleep, he would not eat, and he would not do anything until Alanna was back, safe in his arms…

… but first he was going to get some frappuchino.

**Authoress's Notes:** There was like, this one time at band camp, where a girl's trumpet exploded because she pressed the wrong button!

True story.

Seriously.

Mmm, frappuchino.


	10. Of Glass and Cloth

**Chapter Ten: "Of Glass and Cloth" **

"I just can't believe that she's gone," George sighed over his paper cup of frappuchino. He and Numair had managed to escape the electrical fences and barbed wire of the band camp boundaries, and were now drinking in a small coffee shop nearby. "I loved her so much.. .and she's just … she's _gone_."

Numair patted the ex-Rogue comfortingly on the shoulder, "I know how you feel."

The baron put his cup down on the crumb-covered table, staring. "You have no idea how I feel! You've never lost a loved one!"

He shook his head, "No. It just sounded like something I should say."

"You don't even love anyone!" George accused, standing.

Determined to not get angry, the mage shook his head again. "What about Daine?"

"What _about_ Dai – " George fell silent. "Daine… that's right… since my wife is gone…" He jumped, as if struck by a stroke of genius – which could be argued. "I'll put my children up for adoption and go tell _Daine_ about my undying love for her!"

Numair's eyes widened in shock. "What? You're joking right? --- I didn't mean you should –-- George? George! --- Come back!"

xxxxx

"Wow. Poor, poor George."

"I know… he must feel _awful_."

The girls had gathered in their dormitory, and were now seated on each of their own beds. Three, however, stood empty – as the counselors were out at one of the infamous counselor meetings, usually involving stripping down to their underwear and getting drunk – and Alanna was of course, no more.

"Well, Numair can fix _anything_," Daine smiled, perkily. She liked the Lioness of course, but now _she_ would be the number one female hero in Tortall. "He'll have George feeling better in no time!"

"You put waaay too much faith in your lover, wild mage."

"Wanna make something of it, Queen-girl?"

Thayet and Daine's argument was stopped before it had a chance to get fully started, when the pair heard the sound of tapping on one of the dorm's windows. Every one turned, in time to see an out-of-breath George clinging to the wall and attempting to climb in.

While Lalasa and Kally squealed, Buri opened the window and the baron tumbled into the room.

Scuttling across the floor, George kneeled in front of Daine's bed. "Oh beautiful, wondrous wild mage, I love you so. Come away with me!"

As he spoke, however, Numair barged into the room from across the hall. "Daine! Nooooo!"

The wild mage grinned at her teacher, and turned to George. "Well it's all very flattering—" She was unable to finish her sentence as Numair, assuming that she was going to leave him for the baron, stepped forward and shouted a word of power. In seconds, the wild mage was reduced to a small, but beautiful porcelain doll.

"There," smiled the mage. "If I can't have Daine, then no one can."

Gingerly, the ex-rogue lifted the doll-Daine. "You're wrong."

"Give me that!" cried Numair, lunging for the wild mage's glass and cloth body.

"She's mine!"

Both men clutched opposite ends of the doll, and were tugging frantically.

"She's going to break!"

Fortunately, Daine wasn't broken, but both the mage and the baron lost their grip and Daine went flying…

…directly out the open window.

**Authoress's Notes: **This one time at band camp, a girl was turned into a doll and launched out an open window, it's true. I swear.


	11. Squelch!

**Chapter Eleven: "Squelch!"**

"Daine!" Numair was frantic, crying out her name in the silence of the girls' dormitory as if expecting the doll to reply. "DAINE!" He rushed forward to the window through which her fragile, glass body had tumbled, and stared down, lost.

He was joined shortly by George, who looked down in horror.

They were silent for what felt like hours, before Kel spoke up. "Is… is she okay?"

"You," Thayet marched up to the window to grab a hold of both of them in either arm, "And you – get down there and _get her_!" She stomped a foot as if to capitalize the urgency, "Right now!"

"We… we can't," Numair's voice cracked.

"What was that?"

"She's… gone."

The other girls in the room quickly gathered around the mage, baron and queen, looking down at the modern pavement below. Instead of the shattered spattering of porcelain that they expected to see, there was …

… nothing.

xxxxx

"All right, every one sit down." Lord Wyldon was yet again struggling to gain control over the band for their second practice. The Tortallans, who had been hurriedly exchanging news regarding the two recent tragedies quieted and took their seats, leaving the former training master to look over them critically. "We're missing a flute."

"Daine's gone," Kalasin provided, sadly.

"Gone?" Wyldon snorted. It was impossible. No one could escape the electrical fences and barbed wire of band camp! "Gone where?"

Buri took it upon herself to explain what had happened to the wild mage, and Lord Wyldon took it in stride. Although disappointed that the number of woodwinds was dwindling, leaving possibly damage to the balance of sound, there was a benefit to one less flute.

"Oh well, one less uniform to buy."

"U-uniform?" From where she sat next to Daine's empty seat, the queen's eyes widened in horror. The left one twitched. "We have to wear… _uniforms_?"

"Yes," Lord Wyldon stared down at her, unfazed by her authority or her sudden anxiety, and added matter-of-factly, "They're neon green."

Having heard those frightening words, Queen Thayet the Peerless had no choice but to refuse being subjected to such a train wreck of poor fashion taste. No one could blame her when she rose gracefully from her seat, spun on her heel and raced out of the building.

If only that bus hadn't been pulling up…

**Authoress's Notes:** This one time at band camp, a girl heard about the ugly uniforms and was promptly hit by a bus.

Is there a rule somewhere that says band uniforms have to be the ugliest things in existence? I wasn't ever a part of a marching band, but the concert band I was part of had to wear these awful white golf shirts with brown buttons.

Ugh.


	12. Crack!

**Chapter Twelve: "Crack!" **

"Mommy's goo-o-o-oone!" Kally was wailing in her father's arms. The remaining Tortallans had hurried out of the practice room at the sound of a loud car horn, and were met with the prone form of the deceased Queen of Tortall.

"I… I can't believe it," Jon muttered, his eyes gaining the same hollowed look that was present on Numair's and George's. He patted Kalasin awkwardly, finding it difficult to console his daughter when he himself was so similarly distraught.

"And there goes another flautist," sighed Wyldon, regretting his decision to publicly announce the mandatory uniforms so soon.

"I can't believe it," Jon repeated, as Kally wrenched herself out of his arms, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

She was giggling, as she stepped back from her father, looking up at him with a bright smile. "Now _I'm_ the fairest one of all!" She exclaimed, her despair long forgotten.

Jon could only stare in astonishment at his daughter's sudden change of demeanor, while his own took a turn for the worst at an unexpected realization. "Where's he black opal necklace?" He shouted, at the height of his grief, as he lunged at the corpse. "It's gone! Where is it!?"

George and Numair exchanged a glance, and the mage grabbed Jon's arm. "Let's go get some more frappuchino…"

xxxxx

When the three newly made bachelors returned to camp after escaping to the frappuchino shop, they were shocked – and slightly dismayed – at the sight of Lord Wyldon in nothing but a fluffy, pink towel. (His excuse was that he was taking a shower when the fire alarm had gone off.)

"Was there a fire?" Numair asked, looking around worriedly as if expecting to see flames flickering around them. There were none, but he _did_ see the white, chalk outline of a person on the floor of the hallway.

"We had a bit of an accident," Wyldon replied, unfazed, and still wrapped in his towel, "The princess Kalasin broke her nail."

"What!?" Jon leapt a foot in the hair. First an incredibly expensive necklace was stolen from the corpse of his wife, and _now_ his daughter was dead? Next someone was going to tell him that all his Bank of Tortall credit cards had expired! "Is she okay?"

"Uhm… how can I put this tactfully? … No."

**Authoress's Notes:** One time at band camp, a girl broke her nail. And… died. Somehow.


	13. It's 'Neal’, not ‘Nealan’!

**Chapter Thirteen: "It's 'Neal', not 'Nealan'!"**

"All right, all right. Settle down, band." It was rehearsal time yet again, and Lord Wyldon stepped up to the dais at the front of the band practice room. He had a head ache, and head aches did not make him happy. (And having Owen offer to give him a free massage was not helping.)

"You're _sure_ you don't want one? I'm quite goo—"

"Sit. Down."

The squire meeped, and ran to his stool behind the drum kit, leaving the ex-training master to fight off the evils of his migraine alone.

After several minutes of stomping, shouting and flashy rhythmic gymnastic routines, Lord Wyldon was able to regain control over his band. With this accomplished, he pulled out an armful of thick, dust-covered books. Technique books. Books filled with songs that either have no tune, or are so overused that running and screaming is an acceptable form of defense from "Merrily We Roll Along".

"Okay, band, we're going to play… Merrily We Roll Along! It's on page three, number 0.5. Every one ready?" Raising his blue conductor's baton – Alianne, upset at not being allowed to come to band camp had used her leftover hair dye on it – he started the band. Unfortunately, as most bands are during their first official practice, the Royal Tortallan Band was _terrible_.

"Well," Lord Wyldon began optimistically after the noise had stopped, "You _could_ be better. SO we'll do that one more time." And with the words that a lot of band directors say, but never mean, 'one more time' turned into 'three more times' which became 'a hundred more times', until… miraculously, the band could play "Merrily We Roll Along" – perfectly!

Lord Wyldon was almost moved to tears by this sudden improvement. "Band! I could cry now, in joy, but instead I'll direct you towards being _better_ than perfection!"

"If you want us to get any better, just kick out _Nealan_ over here," announced a snide voice from the clarinet section.

Neal's eyes widened. His face turned red. He looked ready to explode – but didn't – instead, he wheeled around, veeeery sloooowly, and stared at the speaker – Cleon – in the face. "What. Did. You. Say?"

"I said," Cleon replied, still bitter about not being able to sit next to Kel, "Just. Kick. Out. _NEALAN._"

With a cry of outrage, Neal threw himself at his friend. "It's 'Neal'! Not 'Nealan'," he shouted, as he pummeled Cleon with his left hand, while his right snaked up to his own head and began to rip and tear. Large clumps of soft, brown hair went flying in every direction.

Soon, there was no hair left, and in a furious frenzy, Neal was ripping out his scalp, Cleon forgotten.

"I think we may need some help. Like, now."

**Closing Comments:** This one time at band camp, a guy ripped out his own scalp!


	14. 911

**Chapter Fourteen: "9-1-1"**

"Neal! Neal, stop!" Owen's arms were flailing as he threw himself in front of the distraught knight, "You're bleeding all over my drum set!"

Neal froze. "I'm… bleeding?"

"Yes!" Shrieked Kel, dropping her Yamani training and displaying sheer concern for her best friend as she grabbed him by the arm, "You're ripped out all your hair!"

"You mean … you mean … I'm … bald?"

"Yell, yes!" Owen was giggling, now that it was clear his drum set was safe, the whole scenario became somewhat humorous. "But it looks jolly good on you!"

Raising a trembling hand to touch his blood soaked head, Neal fell over backwards. Unconscious.

"Uhm," Owen chewed on his lip as he looked at the immobile knight. "What's the number you call when something really bad happens?"

Most of the Tortallans shrugged, not yet familiar with the intricate inner workings of the present, but Seaver waved his hand in the air. "It's one, one, nine!"

"No, no. That's wrong."

"One, nine, one?"

"It'shhh nine, one, one," slurred Myles, still very drunk. (He had yet to recover from drinking all of the bottles it took to make his new xylophone.)

"That's it!" Lord Wyldon exclaimed, having seen the number in his 'band director survival guide', "What do we do now? Call it?" Unfortunately, the 'band director survival guide' did not explain the concept of telephones.

"Yes!" Chorused every one, before screaming out together, "NINE! ONE! ONE!"

They waited for a minute. Then another. Then another, but nothing happened.

"Why didn't it work?"

Just as Cleon opened his mouth to say something snarky – taking over for Neal, who was still unconscious – an ambulance crashed through one of the band room walls and ran directly over him.

"That's what I call fast-service."

**Authoress's Notes:** One time at band camp, a guy got hit by the ambulance that came to pick up a guy who ripped out his hair!


	15. Beep! Beep!

**Chapter Fifteen: "Beep! Beep!" **

Kel leapt a foot into the air, "Ahh! Look what you did! You ran over _Cleon_!" Still holding Neal's arm, and now dragging him along behind her, she hurried to the front of the ambulance, hoping to find the person who was 'controlling' it. To her dismay, there was no one there. It seemed that they had vanished completely!

(In truth, the ambulance had been down the street but due to a mishap with the emergency brake, a pack of butter-wielding weasels was able to push the vehicle directly into band camp for reasons they would later choose not to disclose during the formal police investigation.)

"What do we do now?"

"Clear the way!" Kel shouted, "Lady Knight coming through!" Still dragging Neal, she leapt into the front of the ambulance as someone pushed Cleon into the back. "All right… so how do I control this thing? It should be just like a horse, right?"

"Put it into gear, and then use the wheel-thingy to change direction!" Shouted Myles, who was completely ignored due to the fact he was still inebriated.

Kel, although not heeding his directions managed to get the ambulance out into the street.

And was never seen again.

Neither was Neal or Cleon.

The pack of butter-wielding weasels just has no mercy…

**Authoress's Notes:** One time at band camp, after a guy ripped out all his hair, and the ambulance came to get him and a guy got run over, then this girl got in the ambulance and drove awaaay…

They say that alliteration is funny.


	16. I Stagger and I Die

**Chapter Sixteen: **"I Stagger and I Die"

"Well…" Lord Wyldon looked solemnly out at his greatly reduced band. There was a considerable dent to the flute section, and an even more sizable one among the clarinets. _Ah well,_ he consoled himself, _You can hardly ever hear the flutes or clarinets anyway._ "All right, so it's time to pick our band pieces."

He strolled complacently over to a filing cabinet labeled 'Overused Band Pieces that Students Hate Playing', and pulled out three piles of sheet music. "We're going to be having a concert in _one_ week."

Upon arriving at the camp, the ex-training master had been presented a copy of several band director guides, among them "The Band Director's Guide to Instruments, Boring Pieces and Gas Stations in Your Area", which he was following faithfully. The idea to set a concert so soon was lifted directly from chapter 16, passage 39 – "_In order to inspire your band to be the best it can be, set a performance at an early date where they can't possibly play well. This will boost the enthusiasm to play well._" 

Waving the scores in the air, he grinned wildly, causing what was left of the front row to back away. "We will be playing Pomp and Circumstance, Stars and Stripes Forever, the theme from Mission: Impossible! Excellent choices, if I may say so myself."

The band, although now familiar with the horror of the three pieces mentioned, groaned and displayed various acts of disgust at the conductor. Onua, for example, chose to shoot soggy spit wads at Wyldon through her flute, while Myles hummed the Imperial March from Star Wars. Overall, there was a lot of grumbling.

"Stop complaining! These pieces are _fun_!" 

While the grumbling continued, Owen skipped his way over to the shelf of unused instruments. "What's this, Lord Wyldon?" 

The ex-training master regarded the instrument in his squire's hands critically, "That's a trombone. Put it down." 

Owen beamed, and danced around with the trombone, gleefully, while Lord Wyldon yelled at him to stop. At this point, the reader fears for Owen's safety, but you can rest assured, Owen will not be harmed – he's simply too _happy_ to be killed off so soon.

"Seaver! Go stop Owen!"

Seaver, glad to be referred to by his proper name and not "Seamus" from Harry Potter as he was frequently called during a previous edition of this story, cautiously approached Owen. However, he was not cautious enough, as Owen finally figured out how to open the trombone slide _just_ as Seaver got close enough to be speared through the stomach.

Which he was.

"Well," sighed Myles, "At least Owen's still alive!"

**Authoress's Notes:** One time at band camp, this guy totally got SPEARED by a trombone!

A word on those three pieces – are they NOT a band's worst nightmare? The second you hear the word "new piece", you cringe and hope for something good. It's now at the point where if I so much as _hear_ those three songs, I run screaming.

I so broke the fourth wall with this chapter. (Look it up.)


	17. Drum Roll, Please!

**Chapter 17 – "Drum Roll, Please!" **

After the disappearances – and deaths – of so many of their friends in just under two days, the campers at Band Camp were somewhat disheartened. With only three girls left in the girls' dorm and seven men in the boys', several questions were floating around the Tortallans' heads, leaving fear and paranoia.

_Who would be next?_

The evening after what would be dubbed the "Strange Affair of Nealan of Queenscove", two people lay awake, not quite able to sleep. Raoul had managed to sneak his way into the camp kitchen to chow down on the large assortment of ice cream bars that he couldn't recall ever being served to them. (Of course it hadn't been served to them, for it was the lunch ladies' secret stash.)

As the Knight Commander of the King's Own was devouring a large fudgesicle, Owen was also making his way through the dark halls of Band Camp. He, however, was headed for the music room.

Unable to sleep, the curly-haired boy had decided that it would be best if he had something to comfort him. Naturally, that something would be his instrument, which is why he crawled up inside the big bass drum, and promptly fell asleep.

Now, based on the suspenseful pattern that has been built up with the Tortallans being mysteriously killed off, you're thinking that one of them is going to die. Owen, or Raoul. Or maybe even both.

Well, it wasn't Raoul, because on his way back from the kitchen, he took a detour into the music room to wipe off his chocolate-covered face on the abundance of paper towels stored there. Unfortunately, on his way out, he happened to brush past the bass drum, and …

… knock it over.

To the knight's surprise, after he chased after the drum as it rolled out of the room, down the hall, up Old Smokey and then done some strategically placed stairs, a body fell out.

Owen was dead.

**Authoress's Notes:** One time at band camp, a guy fell asleep in the bass drum and died when a guy out for a midnight snack knocked it over!


	18. Kaddar?

**Chapter Eighteen: "Kaddar?" **

"I guess that's the last time we'll have to go to a hospital, huh?" Raoul was grinning, despite having just made a rather long trip to the nearby hospital. (To deposit Owen's body in the local morgue.) He was happy despite the unfortunate circumstance, his arm around Buri's waist. They were a couple. They were meant to be.

"Uh.." One hand on her suddenly rather pregnant-looking stomach, Buri attempted a smile.

"But I just can't help but feel responsible, you know?"

"Raoul, you aren't responsible."

He grinned, "I'm glad you feel that way, but I mean, I did knock over that drum, and that's what killed that poor squire."

Buri blinked. Oops. "Is – uh – is _that_ what we're talking about?"

"Well, I mean, what else were we…?" He stared at her in confusion, noticing for the first time that she looked nine months pregnant and ready to pop.

"Raoul-I'm-having-Kaddar's-baby-I'm-sorry-it-would-have-never-worked-out-between-us—" She paused for a breath, "—but-if-you-really-want-I-can-name-it-after-you-since-Kaddar-Junior-sounds-really-dumb-and-well—" Another breath. "Raoul-Junior-does-too-but-hey-whatever." This was all said completely without periods or commas, a feat which Buri commended herself for, although even the strategically placed breaths did not stop her from becoming quite blue in the face.

Raoul, on the other hand, was not quite so proud of her linguistic feat. "…what?"

**Authoress's Notes:** Oh, come on! It's _Band Camp_, you knew it'd happen eventually.


	19. Do Not Pass Go

**Chapter Nineteen: "Do Not Pass Go" **

"You're really leaving us, Buri?"

Buri looked up from her suitcase, apologetically. "I'm sorry. I have to. Now that Raoul know that I'm having Kaddar's child and not his, my life has irreversibly turned into a soap opera. Now I must go live with my crotchety old aunt who will taunt me for the remainder of my living days." She smiled, wryly, "But once I'm dead – I'll be home free!"

"But Buri, we need you here! There's only two of us girls left," whined Lalasa – she was in a particularly whiney mood for no particular reason. "And you know what the guys tried to do last night!"

"Yeah, you were there," exclaimed Onua, recalling the terrifying ordeal. "They barged into our room and forced us to succumb to their manly desires!"

"It wasn't all that serious," Buri replied, stomping on her suitcase to get the straps closed.

"They tied us down and _forced_ us to play Monopoly with them!"

"They didn't even let me be the thimble," cried Lalasa, "I _sew_ for a living! How could I not be the thimble?!"

"Sorry, girls," Buri picked up her suit case, "I'm off!"

xxxxx

The remaining nine Tortallans at band camp came outside to watch Buri leave. Eight of them waved good bye, while the ninth – Raoul – thought better of it. He fell to his knees and sobbed. Once Buri's bus was out of sight, however, he had a sudden, rare thought.

_I should write my name in my underwear in case I ever forgot what it is._

All right so he had two thoughts.

_I should go after Buri!_

And he did! The brave Knight Commander rushed out to flag down the bus, but was unfortunately run over by a rampaging steam roller being driven by Kaddar. Oops.

**Authoress's Notes:** I do not pride myself on the ridiculous, crude humor displayed in this chapter. Well. I found the steam roller thing funny. Heh, heh… steam roller.


	20. What a World!

**Chapter Twenty: "What a World!" **

"It is time," Lord Wyldon murmured slowly, deliberately. "We have learned to _play_ the music, but now it is time to take the ultimate test…"

"You mean we're going to learn how to – "

"No!" He shouted, frantic energy escaping him as he waved his arms in the air, and then his left leg, before returning to solemnity. "No, there is no _learning_ involved." He paused for dramatic effect before announcing, "You are going to practice marching outside! IN THE SWELTERING HEAT!" Pulling out a large umbrella and a picnic basket, the conductor-in-training – well on his way to being a full-fledged band director – ushered the remaining band members outdoors. "You will be taught a formation, and then you will practice it for several long, hot hours… while I sit here in the shade and enjoy a delightful little picnic presented to me for my 'excellent efforts as a future band director'."

With much groaning from the band, they grumbled their way onto the field,w here they were instructed to form a 'T' formation on the field.

"What do we do now?" Onua asked, irritated.

"Uh…" Lord Wyldon was too busy applying sunscreen to pay much attention to the band. "Practice going from a 'T' to a … 'Zqu'."

"Sir, what's a Zqu?"

"Figure it out yourselves."

As the Tortallans – minus Lord Wyldon, who was avidly slurping a pina colada – struggled to form a perfect 'Zqu', Jonathan collapsed.

"Jon! What's wrong?" Rushing towards their fallen king, the remaining band members – minus Lord Wyldon, who having his back massaged – attempted to revive their king. Their efforts were in vain, for it was not reviving that the king needed. It was a bucket.

"I'm meltiiing... I'm meltiiiing…"

"Uh, sir?" Coram prodded Lord Wyldon on the shoulder. "The king just melted."

"Good, good, carry on."

"It's quite obviously too hot, sir."

"That's just your imagination."

"Noo, it's really too hot," George had joined Coram's side.

"Why you ungrateful little saxophonist! When I was in band, I had to march in the rain, march in the cold, march in the heat ten times _worse_ than this! Uphill! BOTH WAYS!"

"… but you were never _in_ band…"

**"Quit your whining and march." **

**Authoress's Note:** This brings back _fond _memories. Not. It's the bane of every marching band member's life, I'm sure. Not mine - like I said, I was never in a real marching band.


	21. Swallow the Bottle

**Chapter Twenty-One: "Swallow the Bottle" **

Even with Jonathan gone, the band found themselves out on the marching field the following day, and trying every thing in their power to keep cool. Onua and Lalasa could be seen parading around with wet blankets swathed over their heads. (This method proved to be effective only for a short period of time, because after thirty seconds or so, the water would evaporate completely. Also – it thoroughly destroyed their hair styling.)

Merric had tried carrying around an umbrella to keep the sun off his face, but Lord Wyldon – seeing that this was obviously _too_ effective – took the offensive object away. (Too be later added to his large collection of them, set up like so many mushrooms on the marching field. For his use _only_, of course.)

Sir Myles had been seen trying to drain the last droplets of alcohol out of the beer bottles which made up his xylophone.

It proved to be almost as effective as the other attempts at keeping cool.

That is, until he swallowed one of the bottles, and it became lodged in his throat.

Then he fell down.

Dead.

**Closing Comments:** One time, at band camp, we learned why xylophones _aren't_ made out of beer bottles.


	22. Aaand Stretch!

**Chapter Twenty Two: "Aaand Stretch!" **

"Well, band, the time of our final performance is drawing near, and I notice you aren't all in the best of shape. As a result, we'll be doing stretches every morning, at _two_." Wyldon grinned as he patrolled the very short line of band members. "I, of course, will not be present. But the use of these modern day things known as "video cameras" will allow me to chart your progress at a later time."

The band groaned. This was another of those horrid training routines invented by Lord Wyldon to make their lives miserable.

"We will start now. Every one… _aaaand _STRETCH!"

As the band members hurried to contort themselves through various stretches, there was an ominous-sounding crack from where Coram stood.

"Uhm… I… uh… think my back gave out," he wheezed, half on the ground.

"Well, you aren't dead. So you can _still_ play in the band."

He groaned, mumbling, "I don't think I can hold up my clarinet."

With a growl, Wyldon escorted him from the room, scowling at the rest of the band. "No one move! I'll be right back…"

**Closing Comments:** This one time, at band camp, this guy's back gave out during morning stretches.


	23. Taking Out the Trash

**Chapter Twenty Three: "Taking Out the Trash" **

The moment that Lord Wyldon disappeared from view, the band members dispersed, running for safety. It was by sheer coincidence alone that George and Numair ended up in the boys' dormitory together.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"I asked first!"

"You stole my magelet!"

"She was never _yours_ to begin with!" 

"Wait… didn't someone say they saw the janitor go by under the window before Daine was flung out?" Numair cried in sudden inspiration, and plot twist, "He must have cleaned up what was left and put it in the dumpster!"

Immediately, the Rogue and the mage turned to stare at each other.

"The DUMPSTER?" 

As if one, the pair leapt out the window and into the dumpster – just as a large garbage truck began to dump its contents into the bin. Numair managed to maneuver his way out of the pile of trash through a strategic sleight of hand, but George was shoved directly into the garbage truck.

Waving, Numair watched as his adversary was driven away. "Have a nice time at the dump!"

**Closing Comments:** One time, at band camp, the pianist used the plot of a previous chapter to bump off his friend.


	24. Last Hopes

**Chapter Twenty Four: "Last Hopes" **

"I. Am. Ashamed of you!" Lord Wyldon stared down at each of the four remaining band members. "You all deliberately disobeyed me, and ran off without doing your stretches! And George was taken to the garbage dump in the process? Shameful! It's the night before the concert and – "

"Is anyone else feeling a sudden jump through time? Wasn't it only a week to the concert, like, ten minutes ago?" 

"_Quiet_," Wyldon growled, "Now you must all – "

"Lord Wyldon, sir, I've accidentally sewn a scrap of cloth to my finger, and now I can't play my flute."

"What?!" The knight stormed over to where Lalasa was sitting. "You've sewn _cloth_ to your _finger_?" 

"I couldn't help it, sir, I sew when I'm nervous. I sew when I'm happy. I sew when I'm sad. I just love to – "

"Get out of my sight!" Watching the timid maid go, Wyldon glared around the room, "Anyone else have something to declare?"

"Yes," grumbled Numair, "While you were getting angry at Lalasa, Merric inhaled a pixie stick through his nose and died."

"… great." Although Lord Wyldon's death glare directed at Numair wasn't enough to kill him , the piano which fell on his head was. With only one person left alive in the room – besides himself – the ex-training master turned to the last remaining band member. " Onua! My star! My flutist! My flautist! You are the only one left! Play for me!" 

"Sorry, no can do." She grinned, "I just got a Broadway contract for my brilliant singing voice."

In a moment, he was alone , and Lord Wyldon fell to his knees in desperation. "Why? WHYYYY?"

**Authoress's Notes:** This is not the end. There's ONE more chapter to go! Thanks everyone for being patient!


	25. The Concert

**Chapter Twenty Five: "The Concert" **

Lord Wyldon was terrified. He had to go onstage and tell every one who'd come to hear the Tortallans play – which was quite a lot of people – that there would be no Tortallans. No playing. No music. No band. Drawing a deep breath, he began to take slow steps up to the stage. Making his way to the center, he finally faced the angry-looking audience.

"L-ladies, and g-gentlemen," he began, horrified at what might ensue. "The band w-will not be pl-playing tonight, as they are all – for the most part, anyway – deceased…"

He was met with mass booing, and cringed. Dropping to the ground, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to avoid being hit with the vast amount of rotten vegetables being hurled in his direction. When suddenly, a lone trumpet began to play…

Alanna had returned. Her body, although full of holes, speckled throughout her torso, arms and legs, continued to live on.

Soon, she was joined by a flute. Daine – still a doll – was only barely managing to hold up her instrument, when another flautist and a clarinet joined in. Thayet, uniform- less was back, as was Kalasin with beautifully manicured nails.

Next, came the sounds of three more clarinets, and another trumpet. Neal – completely bald, Cleon – with tire marks down his chest, Kel, and Seaver – with a large hole in the middle of his chest, were all on the stage playing like there was no tomorrow.

Then, Owen returned, adding his drum to the mix of music, despite the huge throbbing lump on his forehead, and then came Buri, playing her alto saxophone while balancing a baby I nher arms. Then there was Raoul, Jon and Myles – with a beer bottle clearly stuck in the middle of his neck.

Finally, Coram, George, Lalasa, Merric, Numair and even Onua were all back, and playing as beautifully as they possibly could.

Lord Wyldon knew then, that he was the happiest conductor-in-training to ever walk the halls of badn camp. Proudly, he rose to his feet, brushed the tomato juice and carrot stems off, and stepped up to the front of the band. What had been an "interesting" noise to begin with was suddenly intensified once Wyldon started conducting.

The band was toget her, and although their happy times at band camp were over for now, they would always stand unified as one.

A perfect band.

(Even if their music still sorta sucked.)

**Authoress's Notes:** The End! Thank you so much everyone! All of you wonderful people who reviewed and put up with this story through it's very bare beginnings waaay back in 2003. This truly was a work of… well… not love… insanity maybe, and I'm very glad that it has been completed. Thank you all!


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